ALPHABET MURDERS - ANGIE BARTONI CASE FILES #1 (Detective Angie Bartoni Case Files)

by Marshall Huffman

  “Did he hurt you?” the mom asked.

  “No but I wish he had taken me. It’s all my fault. I couldn’t do anything to stop him. He was so fast.”

  “It’s not your fault. There is nothing you could have done to prevent it. What did you think you could have done? Tackled the guy and thrown him to the ground?” the dad said.

  “But she was my responsibility,” Grandma said quietly.

  I hate this stuff. The bastards that do this kind of stuff have no idea what the parents, siblings, grandparents and all the other relatives have to go through. It touches so many lives and yet we have to be careful of their rights. Something is terribly wrong when the courts are more concerned about the perp than they are about the rights of the victim. Who the hell do we have on the Supreme Court anyway? A bunch of old farts that live in a rich safe environment that can’t possible relate to how the victims feel and what it does to their lives.

  Ex-ccuuuse me, I’ll get down off my soapbox now. I may be a cop but that doesn’t mean I agree with the way the courts treat victims.

  They gave Aaron a current picture and a copy of her fingerprints that they had had taken during one of the Safety First Expos at the mall.

  “What is being done?” the father asked Aaron.

  “We are setting up roadblocks at one, five, and ten mile street exits. A BOLO has gone out describing the van. By the way, a witness said the van was a newer Dodge Ram cargo van. White with Indiana tags. He got part of the number. That information has gone out as well. We are having DMV and the FBI compile a list of white Dodge cargo vans with the first letters being NC or NE. The guy didn’t have his glasses on but he is pretty sure those were the first two letters,” Aaron said.

  “Helicopter?”

  “Yes. We have two up now and the State Police are sending one of theirs as well. Of course we have all the news copters looking as well. We relayed the same information to them.”

  “Very well. Is there anything that Marion or I can do?”

  “Honestly, not much more at this point. You might want to take your grandmother home and get her calmed down. She feels like she is to blame for this. She is definitely not to blame. This guy knows exactly what he is doing. Nothing she could have done would have changed the outcome.”

  “I appreciate that. We know that as well but getting her to forgive herself will be a huge challenge. Getting our Ginny back will go a long way to helping.”

  “It will relieve us all. We want this guy real bad. The entire force plus the FBI is devoted to running this guy down,” Aaron said.

  I had just been listening not saying a word. Somehow it seemed like the best thing I could do under the circumstances. The less attention I drew to myself the better I figured.

  I decided to head back to my car but Marcus intercepted me.

  “Hey Detective Bartoni.”

  “Detective Bartoni?”

  “Yeah. With your keen instincts on spotting perps I thought I should address you more formally.”

  “You’re a real ass at times Detective Lane,” I said.

  The crap was already starting and I hadn’t even left the crime scene.

  “Come on. Just kidding. You can’t lose your sense of humor now.”

  “The hell I can’t. Don’t you think I already feel like crap?”

  “Hey, lighten up. He didn’t look like the sketch I showed to Kathleen Foster either. Actually, speaking of Ms. Foster. She was actually not critical of you at all. She said you sat right down and confronted him as soon as you came up. She was as shocked and anyone else when the guy suddenly leaped up and started running.”

  “He had a coat on. His hands were in his pockets. Duh. I’m supposed to figure things like that out. Instead I let him give me a sob story that I fell for. I even felt sorry for the jerk,” I spit it out like it was poison I had just drank.

  Marcus didn’t say anything as we walked along.

  “I mean, how would you feel? I was as close to him as we are right now. All I had to do was grab the son-of-a-bitch.”

  I was fuming. How dense could I be? I don't doubt even LeRoy Gates and Bud Farmington could have figured it out and they are dumber than bricks.

  Marcus still didn’t say anything. He just marched along beside me looking straight ahead.

  “Shit,” I exclaimed. Pretty witty huh?

  “So, how about those Cubs?” he finally said.

  I had to laugh. I didn’t want to but I did.

  “Okay, I’m over it,” I said as we reached my Chevele.

  “Nah. Not really but it’s a start. Look, from the way the Foster lady described him, I doubt I would have made the connection either.”

  “Yeah, right. Marcus, he had a damn jacket on. It’s like eighty degrees out today. He is sitting in the sun and I don’t see anything wrong?”

  “Okay, I guess we need to walk back and start over again. I was wrong. You don’t have it out of your system yet.”

  “If we don’t get Ginny Thompson back unmolested, I doubt I ever will. I always wanted to be a chef anyway.”

  Now I was feeling sorry for myself. Wanting Marcus to tell me I was too valuable as a cop to hang it up.

  Instead he said, “That would be nice. Maybe you could learn to make a steak without overcooking it.”

  I was just starting to climb in the car but stopped.

  “Look buster. You don’t like the way I cook steak you don’t have to eat it. Got it?”

  “Yeah, I got it. And you don’t have to be such a jerk. Got it?” he said and walked off.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The boy heard the pounding on the door. It had been two days since he had crept upstairs and killed his father and mother. He had been smart enough to lock himself back in his closet with a box of crackers and two bottles of water.

  They were just about depleted and he was getting hungry. He was thinking about opening the door once more and getting something else to eat. It was fortunate that the banging on the front door happened before he could get the bolt slid back.

  He heard the front door crash open. The police had probably kicked it in. He knew that would come eventually when his mom and dad didn’t show up for work.

  “Hello, police. Anyone here?” the voice came drifting through the closet door.

  “Police. Anyone here?” another voice yelled. It was higher pitched. Probably a woman.

  He listened with his ear to the door and could hear them walking on the hardwood floor. He didn’t want to bang on the door. He wanted them to find him locked and afraid.

  He sat there for several minutes before he heard someone yell, “Up here. Got two bodies. Multiple stab wounds.”

  “Got it. I’ll call it in,” the higher pitched voice replied.

  He could her calling the discovery of two adult bodies and gave them the address. He just sat in the dark and waited. At some point he fell asleep but was awakened by a lot of voices coming from the front of the house.

  “Did you find the kid?” a new voice asked.

  “What kid?”

  “They have a boy. Someplace around eleven or so. Did you even look for him?”

  “We don’t know anything about a kid. We were just told to come and check on the two adults that hadn’t been seen by anyone in a couple of days. No one mentioned a kid.”

  “Well there is one. Start searching the house,” the man said.

  He could hear a flurry of feet as they cops fanned out to search for him. He scooted back in the corner and wrapped his arms around his knees.

  “Hey, the closet door is locked.”

  “Locked? Why would anyone lock a closet?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he keeps a gun in there and doesn’t want the kid to get it.”

  “Open the damn thing.”

  “Hey. I’m trying okay?”

  “Ah hell. Let me,” the deeper voice said and a loud crack reverberated as the door was yanked off its hinges.

  The boy balled up as tight as he could and star
ted whimpering.

  “Holy shit,” the cop said, looking down at the huddled little boy.

  “Don’t. Please don’t hurt me. I’ve been good. Please...”

  “Easy boy. No one is going to hurt you. Why are you locked in here? Were you trying to hide?”

  “No,” the boy said with a quiver in his voice, “This is where they keep me. I’ve been good. Please don’t let them hurt me again.”

  The two cops looked at each other. What the hell had gone on in this house?

  “No one is going to hurt you ever again. Come on out. We will protect you,” the cop said trying to sound as gentle as he could.

  “They will beat me and make me do things if I come out without permission.”

  “No. No they won’t. I promise you that they will never hurt you again. I give you my word as a policeman.”

  “But..”

  “It’s okay. Honest. Look, you want to ride in a police car?”

  “With lights and a siren?”

  “You bet. Come on out. I’ll be with you every step of the way. Nothing will happen to you.”

  Slowly the boy stood up. The cops could see bruises and welt marks all over his naked body.

  “Where are your clothes?”

  “They won’t give me any when I’m locked in my room. Only when I come out. Then I have to wear a dress for my dad.”

  The big cop just stood there with his mouth open. What had they done to this poor kid? What kind of life was he going to have after he grew up?

  He put his arm around the kid and tried to tell him how everything was going to be okay from this time on. They would make sure he got the necessary help he needed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Anything?” I asked when I got back to the station.

  “We think he is holed up someplace. No way he could have gotten through all three roadblocks without someone spotting him.”

  “Holed up how? I mean where could he hide a van without anyone noticing it?” Marcus asked.

  “Parking garage, car lot, mall, in a park with trees overhead. Hell, just about any place he could have gotten to before the Amber Alert went out,” the captain said.

  “Yeah, but how did he know to hide? I mean, he hasn’t done that before,” I said.

  “That we know of. Maybe it’s the way he operates all the time. Sits tight until he is sure the coast is clear,” the captain replied.

  “Could he have a police scanner in his van?” I asked.

  “Most assuredly. If he does, then as soon as the alert went out he knew he needed to stash the van until things calmed down.”

  “Then we probably need to pull the officers off the inner road blocks and have them start a search of every parking garage, car lot or anyplace else he could try to sit it out.”

  “We have additional man power coming in from the outlying Sheriffs' departments, along with some additional FBI and US Marshals helping.”

  “Maybe we will get lucky and he will let her go with all the heat on.”

  “Yeah right,” the captain replied.

  “He won’t.”

  I turned around and saw Cynthia walking over to where we were talking.

  “Why not?”

  “His ego won’t let him. He had to let one girl go but he couldn’t stand the humiliation of a second failure.”

  “You’re saying that even if we squeeze him into a corner he won’t just dump her and run?”

  “He can’t. He isn’t wired that way. Having to give Fran back was a huge blow to his ego. If he has to give up Ginny it would probably mean the end for her. He would rather kill her than give up another one.”

  “Maybe he would use her as a negotiating tool,” I said.

  “Not likely. I’m pretty sure he would do suicide by cop rather than go to prison.”

  “I hope we can bring him down without having to kill him. I want his ass to rot in prison. I hope they put him in with a big ole mean Bubba.”

  “One way or the other, we have to find him first.”

  No shit Sherlock.

  ***

  I was bushed. We had been going at it all day and well into the night with no luck. A couple of near misses were as close as we got. I looked at my watch, 11:45 p.m.

  I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and I had a pounding headache. I made a stop at Little Caesar’s Pizza and got one of their ready to eat pepperoni pizzas. I had to drink a Diet Pepsi. Yuck. Still, the pizza was hot and a heck of a bargain for five bucks. It was just a little after midnight when I was told we were to head back to the station for a debriefing. Someone tell me what the hell good that was going to do? We needed to keep looking, not sitting around jacking our jaws.

  When I got to the station about half the police force was there. For so many cops it was strangely quiet. Even the usual loud mouths were talking in a subdued voice.

  I went to the break room and got a Diet Coke. I had to practically fight my way to the soda machine. Bodies were packed in like sardines. I finally made it and put in my dollar. It came tumbling down the chute; I grabbed it up and popped the top. Ahh, nothing like the real thing.

  I had managed to shove my way over to the candy machine when Marcus came up and said, “We got nothing. The longer it goes the less chance we have of getting this guy.”

  Like he was telling me something I wasn’t already acutely aware of.

  “How much longer are they going to keep the roadblocks up?”

  “Until 4:00 a.m. then they are going to pull them before the morning drive time starts.”

  I punched in E6 and the Snickers landed with a loud ‘thunk’ in the bottom of the machine. Diet Coke and Snickers, late night snack of champions. Okay, some cops.

  “You going out to hit the streets again when this debriefing is over?” Marcus asked.

  “I might as well. It’s not that much longer to four o’clock now.”

  I heard someone shout for everyone to assemble by the Captain’s door. This should be something. All of us trying to get close enough to hear what was being said.

  “Okay, listen up,” the Captain shouted.

  I was about halfway back, in the middle of the room. I could hear him just barely. I wondered how those by the back wall could hear a thing.

  “We are pulling the middle ring road block at zero three hundred. The outer one at zero four hundred hours. The mayor doesn’t want to interfere with the morning drive time. It would back up traffic too badly. He has consented to allowing the helicopters to stay overhead until ten o’clock. They are burning a ton of fuel but the cost will not come out of our budget.

  I want to thank all of you for jumping in and doing all you could to locate this bastard. It wasn’t through lack of effort that we haven’t found him yet.

  Is there anyone who can think of anything we haven’t tried or someplace we need to look?” he asked.

  No one spoke up. It seemed like we had hit the wall. The Captain thanked us all again and then released the Sheriff's deputies and Marshals. The rest of us were told to hit it again, making sure to look in apartment complexes that had covered parking slots.

  No problem. That was like maybe a thousand or so just within the first ring of roadblocks. We all grumbled but headed out.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  You know how on the CSI shows, they are the ones that always go out and get the bad guy? What a crock. What they really do is go to the crime scene, get a bunch of samples and then hide out in their cubbyholes until they get around to sending a report to the detectives who are actually working the case.

  Who came up with that crap?

  CSI GUY 1: “I found a thread and it matches a sweater of Billy Bob that he purchased in 1925. He must be the murderer.”

  CSI GUY 2: “Yeah and I took a cast of the tires in the snow. They only came on that one truck. He must be the guy.”

  CSI GAL (low cut top, 5 inch heels): “Let’s go run him down and I’ll punch him out.”

  CSI GUY 1: “Okay, since we never have t
o stop and pee, let’s just do it.”

  CIS GAL 1: “I my top tight enough so that I look hot?”

  You can always tell when they have the wrong guy. There are still twenty minutes to go in the show. The bad guy is never caught until it is down to the last seven or eight minutes. Anyone before that is just a mislead.

  Our problem was a little different. We had damned little physical evidence. Our labs couldn’t lift prints off the treated wood, dirt or any damn thing. The DNA didn’t help one bit. The only two people who had actually seen this guy were Fran and me and I was too dumb to recognize him. Guess I won’t be seen on any of the CSI shows any time soon.

  I did hit the streets and managed to check out twenty apartment complexes but found nothing. At three o’clock I decided I would drag my tired butt home and get a few hours sleep.

  I dropped my pants by the front door, tossed off my shirt on the couch and pitched my bra on the dresser. That’s it. I just climbed into bed, pulled the sheet over me and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

  I finally stumbled out of bed at 9:30 and promptly banged my knee on the night stand. Ah, it’s going to be one of those days. I climbed into the shower and let the hot water cascade over me for ten minutes or so. By the time I dried off, I almost felt human.

  I looked in the mirror. My tummy was still pretty flat and my boobs hadn’t lost their bounce. Not too bad, and then I looked at my face. I had dark circles under my eyes. They were also a nice shade of pink. I was pretty sure that wasn’t my natural color. Looking at my hair, I decided I had two choices. Put a ball cap on or pull it back in a ponytail. I opted for the latter.

  When I finally got to the station it was like a morgue. Only the Captain was in his office. e waved for me to come in as I passed by.

  “What are you doing here so early?”

  “Early?” I said, looking at my watch. It was going on 11:30 a.m.

  “You see anyone else here? You don’t need to be here, go home and get some sleep.”

  “I can’t. I’m so damn frustrated. How could that shit have slipped by us?”